One cook’s “exotic” is another cook’s pantry staple. Yotam Ottolenghi, the chef who introduced za’atar and pomegranate molasses to countless kitchens around the world, on not sweating the specialty ingredient.

"It’s not Ottolenghi enough,” my longtime colleague Cornelia said, popping into the test kitchen to see what was cooking.

“It needs something more; something exotic.” The dish in question was simple—a fillet of cod baked in a chile-tomato sauce—but it was one that I absolutely love. Not Ottolenghi enough? But I am Ottolenghi! While I don’t tend to think of myself in the third person, the comment got me thinking. I love big-flavored ingredients, and recipes bearing my name do bring a certain shopping list to mind. But am I not being “Ottolenghi enough” when I fall for a recipe devoid of ras-el-hanout, yuzu, date syrup, freekeh, or za’atar? Do all my recipes need a twist, a surprise, a three-act drama in the mouth?

Recipe development is a balancing act: On one hand, readers come to my recipes with certain expectations. On the other, an ingredient must only be included because of need, not for the sake of novelty or simply because the reader expects it. A sprinkle of sumac or a handful of pomegranate seeds—ingredients some call exotic—will more often than not be the extra something a dish needs for it to sing. But knowing that is no excuse to play every dish the same.

The whole notion of “exotic” depends on where you’re standing and when. When I first moved to the UK in the ’90s from Jerusalem, chickpeas and tahini—staples of my childhood—were considered “out there.” Making hummus at home would have been the height of exoticism. These days, the two ingredients are so mainstream that a container of hummus has a permanent place in grocery stores, and in kids’ lunches too.

Mangoes, chorizo, coriander, fresh mozzarella, ­quinoa, coconut oil, Sriracha, ghee, panko breadcrumbs: I’ve seen all of these (along with so many more) ascend in rank on supermarket shelves. What was once relegated to some dimly lit corner—to the aisle often labeled, somewhat generically, “world food” or “international”—may now take pride of place at the front of the store: piled high and promoted for all.

I’m not quite sure where the concept of world food leaves everything else in our delightfully heterogeneous society: One person’s exotic is the next person’s everyday. When I write a recipe, I feel compelled to challenge people to get out of their comfort zone and try ingredients that may be less expected. At the same time, I want the recipe to have all the reassuring comfort and familiarity that comes from home-cooked food. These factors came into play while I was making a salad with ingredients ranging from the familiar (to some) corn on the cob and arugula to the less familiar (to some) fresh turmeric, dandelion leaves, and endive. Whether these things are available and known to you, the reader, depends on where you live, where you shop, what you grow, and where you go.

Rather than describing something as commonplace or exotic, I’d say every ingredient belongs on the world-food stage. And if an ingredient is too otherworldly for someone to track down, no need to worry. Behind every hard-to-find ingredient, there’s always a willing and able understudy ready to step in as a substitute. Arugula is an easy sub for dandelion leaves; ground turmeric works in place of the fresh root. Alternatives can be suggested, options should be given. It’s about pushing boundaries, but only just far enough.